I am currently reading, “A Brief History of Time” by Steven Hawking, and I’m devouring everything I can find about the time-space continuum. I’ve also watched the movie “Donnie Darko” multiple times until I felt that I understood it. All of this has helped me come to the conclusion that The Joy of My Life is caught in a time-warp. She enjoys little music beyond that of the fifties.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy music from that era, as well. In fact, I always look forward each month, to reading Randal C. Hill’s columns found in this stellar publication.
A visit to when it started
The first music that really moved me in my teens was Rockabilly. This included Elvis when he was good, B.M. (Before Movies). “The Sun Sessions” were his standout work, in my humble opinion. For my money, the best record he ever made was “My Baby Left Me” which was the B-side of “I Want You, I Need You, I Love You.” The thing is, I can retain my love of that music, and still move beyond it.
My Honey cannot, and can barely function, unless there is background music from the TV’s Music Choice Channel 429 “Solid Gold Oldies”. For me, it’s nice now and then, but not day after day after day.
My tastes are too eclectic. I must have some Miles Davis, some Thelonious Monk, i.e. some real Jazz occasionally (as opposed to “Smooth”). Or some Celtic Music. Let’s face it, I appreciate a lot of music that someone my age is not necessarily supposed to like, for instance I enjoy Pearl Jam, Soundgarden and more recently the Progressive Rock of “Porcupine Tree”, “The Pineapple Thief” and “Dream Theater”. So much music, so little time.
When we met, my wife’s music and mine were at opposite poles. We found our common ground one year in Savannah, at a small club below the sidewalk named “Crossroads”. We had drinks and listened to the band. She reacted: “I like this! This isn’t Jazz is it?” “No,” I said, “not exactly”.
“This is Blues,” I continued. “I like Blues,” she said. Suffice to say that her collection is currently larger than mine.
At the moment, I’m listening to Alison Krauss and Union Station. Oops! I have to break away now. I hear the strains of “Be-Bop a Lula” wafting from the portal and I have to dive through before it collapses. See ya later, Alligator.
Mike reluctantly tips his hat to Rap music for keeping vinyl records alive. Contact him at email@example.com